A long-running personal blog shared by two authors with completely different approaches to life. And a lot of large, beautiful photographs of dogs and nature and places we've traveled to. Rich in commentary and irreverant in style.

Blog

We started blogging a long time ago. Our work hours never aligned with recommended psychotherapists and we needed to get our thoughts out. We are great friends, total opposites and long-time housemates. This was a way to communicate. With each other. With strangers. With consumer marketers. With sub-par meteorologists. With distant friends who wanted to see pictures of stuff we were up to.

This is the place. Our bucket of thoughts to share. You are welcome. (We realize that most of you are here for the dog pictures.)

It’s almost time to do the 5 o’clock news with Seamus. But since he is not heavy into the editorial part of the broadcast I thought I’d do a quick summary of recent events.Monday morning I took Shorty over to the neighboring island for “the Monday Morning Sing Along”. It was at 9 am and it was being offered to children 1 to 5.I thought maybe I’d let shorty see people his size – let him do one of his favorite things (sing badly in public) and maybe even meet some mothers of spawn local to the area.Wrong.Of the 12 children in witness to the MMS…I was one of two actual biological parents.The rest were care givers. Givers of care, employed by people who are obviously so rich and important they are still asleep. But their children are not.Like take for instance Madeline. Madeline is from the school of “let’s get the hell out of here”. She escaped the class about (no shit) 17 times. Her Russian svelte nanny could hardly sit on the floor she was so constricted by her Manhattan jeans. And yet every time Madeline made a break for it she was surprised. She got some serious looks from the other care givers. That and the fact that her toddler charge had her ears pierced and was wearing something very new money. I quite enjoyed Madeline’s spirit. At the age of 2.5 she has learned how to predict multiple types of door knobs at various speeds with one or both hands. She was a scrapper. But when she stopped she had the look of a goat in her eyes. That odd vacant look. One that makes you believe that there is not a goddamn thing going on in that little head. Total blankness. She will do well at minimum security facilities later in life.So there were some affluent kids in the MMS group…and we seemed to be new and people were okay with that because a) I looked like my kid and b) I arrived by private boat from the ‘other island’ and c) I had on a simple dry cleaned linen top with old jeans and over priced flip flops. I could be fucking ANYONE. So no one messed with me. : )Who knew…I could have married well and want to hire one of them next season. (cough) Hope they like pretentious hounds as well.Tuesday there were the Impromptu Guilt Olympics. Shannon and her husband both hosted the games and were the strongest competitors. (think France) Scott and Shannon were challenging each other to walk from town…and they were timing it. This was in response to a large meal my boyfriend and I prepared the night before. Town is about 7.5 mils away. I decided to save myself for the intellectual games happening immediately following the post Guilt Olympic bandaging period. My dad also opted for spectator status – but was found creating a finish line ribbon out of toilet paper. Obviously he thought w were low on “pomp”. It was fun to watch him. He was basically just TP’ing the yard, as the wind would blow and break the ribbon causing him to have to run a swath over and over again.

Seamus came out of the house to see what was going on and mistook the race to be starting from the house. He won that heat with nary a contender. My father made is urine face as he restrung more toilet paper for the *real athletes.Scott eventually won the marathon with a remarkable time of something like 70 minutes. My father and I (the press) took this all in with the same curiosities. Scott was either an IMPRESSIVE athlete ..or was a big fat liar. We liked both types so he was allowed into the hall of cheese and crackers.